


WARM

by marscolony



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Mild Sexual Tension, Referenced alcohol abuse, Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 08:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16301381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marscolony/pseuds/marscolony
Summary: Sarah can't keep warm. John offers to help.





	WARM

Sarah growled, trying to massage some warmth into her fingers. It was cold, so damn cold all the time. Sometimes she thought she'd never really thawed out after the vault... after Nathan...

Her lips curled into a snarl as her breath turned into steam. The gloves didn't help. The liquor, the chems, nothing helped. It was fucking pointless.

She threw the leather gloves to the ground, cursing as if it would summon the sun from behind the clouds, would wash out the dreary grey of the god damn hell hole she was living in.

The Wasteland. Ha, yeah, Wasteland.

It was better suited to her than that damn white picket fence had ever been. No more false smiles and god damn casseroles, pretending the whole damn world was just peachy-keen. She'd shed the tight leash Nate had kept her on to make her calm, to make her civil. The damn bastard had meant well, but he'd died, he'd fucking _died_ on her, that son of a bitch.

She gave herself the moment, let her composure fracture into pieces as she slammed her metal helmet down against the stone wall she sat on, listening to the sound pop and echo into the still, desolate silence. Fuck it all, fuck every last person in it.

She lit a cigarette, pulling on it furiously. Maybe if she razed the entire Commonwealth in hell fire she would finally be warm. Her leash was gone. She was a wild animal set from her cage out into an unsuspecting world.

But she was too sharp for this world, too. She'd seen it on their faces. Seen the fear in their eyes as she threw herself into the fire, tearing at everything she could get her hands on without blinking. She'd searched through so many people for some shred of ease, cut through them, broken them all, just to find some fragment of how Nate had made her feel human.

She let a sharp hiss escape her lips as she tried again, futilely, to make her fingers warm. Busted knuckles, broken nails, blood from the last unlucky bastard that fell to her machete still dried on her cuticles.

"Easy there, sister." The rasping words surprised her.

She'd let herself get so far out of her own head that she hadn't heard the ghoul approach. He reached out, worn, leathery hands grasping hers firmly. He massaged her pale skin with his fingers.

His hands were hot and softer than she'd assumed they would be. She forced herself to be still, to keep from lashing out at him. Forced herself to accept the unwarranted kindness. It would be a shame to bring Goodneighbor against her for shredding their mayor to tatters. It was a nice town. Good music, good chems.

He tugged their hands toward himself, leaning his cratered face over them and exhaling over her skin. Warm, wet steam reeled her back into her body, back into the moment.

He straightened up, letting her hands fall back into her lap. She watched that ridiculous collar on his ruffled shirt, studied the flesh of his exposed neck. Too startled from being caught off guard to be sarcastic, to smooth over her outburst with her usual lascivious charm.

"Hey, that's alright." He murmured, his voice low and soothing as he stepped closer. It took her a moment to understand what he was referring to.

Sarah hadn't cried, not once. She'd bled, she'd screamed, she'd killed, and seethed. She'd raged and wreaked havoc and caused chaos and raised hell. She hadn't cried. Not since she was a wafer thin teenager on the Boston streets.

"That's just fine." Hot fingers traced her sharp cheekbones, wiping away tears she could barely feel. She expected him to yank back, to get cut.

He plucked the cigarette from her lips, setting it between his own. One hand stroked her red hair, the other coaxing her against him, a soft pressure on her spine. She let her face rest against his collar. Let him rub his hand lazily over her back.

He smelled like grape mentats and vodka. His dumb frock coat was musty. But he was warm.

"No shame, Sunshine. None at all." She could feel the rattle of his voice against her forehead.

 _Sunshine_. She'd thought it was a jab the first few times he'd said it. Oxymoronic. Sunshine was to Sarah what a pin needle was to a deathclaw. She was sarcastic and cruel, more bite than bark. She was a bitch, a monster, a bladed ball of fury and bent nails and shards of glass. Anyone that got too close got gouged.

 _Sunshine_. Maybe it was just the hair. Maybe the ghoul was just as crazy as he pretended to be.

He tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her face upward.

"Chin up." She caught his black eyes, studied how the light reflected off of them. "Need a hit?"

Hell. Yeah, she did.

She gave her head one quick nod and he pulled an inhaler from his coat, giving it a vigorous shake and removing the cap. She didn't try to move, didn't want to risk sinking her claws in too deep.

She held his gaze as he lifted the inhaler for her, emptying her lungs before wrapping her lips around the mouthpiece. He depressed the canister, the aerosol filling her mouth as she took a slow, deep breath. She held it and he pulled the mouthpiece from her lips. She counted out ten seconds in her head, then exhaled through pursed lips, watching the subtle look of pleasure take his face.

"Ain't that a pretty picture." A smirk tugged at his weathered lips.

She let the jet drag her downward, softening the edges until all her hyper-awareness and rage was dulled and packed away again. The warmth from his hands and from the finger he'd let linger on her chin remained longer than it should have.

A pipe pistol popped somewhere across the river, more gunfire volleying in reply. Reality called, beckoning their charade to an end. He capped the jet, tucking it back into his coat and reaching for the shotgun he'd leaned against the stone wall.

"Come see me anytime you need warmin' up."

He'd hinted before. This offer was different. Clearer.

She considered him for just a moment more, before reaching for her helmet. "I just might."

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback is appreciated. Might write more ficlets like this about Sarah and her adventures in the Commonwealth.


End file.
